Special Agent Chuck
by Alexnandru Van Gordon
Summary: Tall, masked, menacing and unknown – the worst combination in the world. Why couldn’t Chuck’s kidnapper be a small, sweet, old lady? “I came for you, Chuck.” He clarified impassively. “And I plan on showing you all that you can be.”
1. Chapter 1: Subtle Introductions

Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

A/N: Last night, after watching Bryce return from the dead (but was he ever truly dead?), my little sister brought up an interesting question: Why hasn't anyone tried to exploit Chuck's newfound knowledge yet? Well, first off all, Chuck probably wouldn't be all that cooperative, and secondly—wouldn't you need someone slick enough to get past the government and strong enough to oppress Chuck (not just physically, mind you, because I can't see Chuck beating the baddies to a pulp)? So vola—here you have it, a story in which Chuck gets to put all that information to use, chalk full of mental torture, conflicting morals and a dose of iffy amnesia. Which reminds me…I should probably put up a warning. Chuck fighting the baddies all on his own won't be a pretty sight…

WARNING: Mental torture (along with a bit of normal pain, mind you), conflicting morals and a dose of iffy amnesia. Stockholm syndrome may, or may not, be present, but that depends on Chuck's mental state—however there will be _nothing_ to the extent of rape. That's where I draw the line.

SUMMARY: Tall, masked, menacing and unknown – the worst combination in the world. Why couldn't Chuck's kidnapper be a small, sweet, old lady? _"I came for you, Chuck."_ He clarified impassively. _"And I plan on showing you all that you can be."_

CHAPTER ONE: Subtle introductions

Despite what Sarah and Casey might think, there were many things Chuck could handle without batting an eyelash. He could run out and buy milk in the middle of the night, rain pouring down like the first flood, without an umbrella or a flashlight and _still_ manage to make it home almost as dry as when he left. He knew how to reach in and pull something wretched hot out of the oven fast enough without oven mitts _and without _permanently burning his hands. And he knew how to handle a long, hard fall down multiple flights of stairs should Ellie ever 'accidentally' knock him down them again. Alright—so he couldn't shoot a gun like Sarah and, sure, he couldn't run half as fast as Agent Casey, but each man his own little world and in Chuck's world there was nothing really wrong with him.

Admittedly, Chuck knew his limits.

And this was one of them.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, not quite sure how the man found him or what he planned to do with Chuck, the computer nerd swallowed the bit of bile rising in his throat and resisted the urge to run. But usually when Chuck couldn't move, he found the need to talk rise above the need to _live_, especially if said holder-of-the-gun hadn't specified whether or not he wanted him to remain silent.

"Um…if you don't mind me asking…who exactly are you?"

The man didn't reply right away, probably because it was a stupid question, but (much to his surprise) the fellow decided to humor him… _"They call me Grey."_

'_Grey'_…no flashes, no information, no _nothing_.

Chuck swallowed again, trying hard to keep his voice level. "Who do you mean when you say, _'they'_? I know _they_ aren't with the government, and telling me your name is 'Grey' leaves me stranded in a…well…a _grey_ area, so to speak…"

He could hear the smile rather than see it behind the black cloth mask. He saw a glitter of something mischievous in his captor's eyes, the only part of him that wasn't covered in cloth or armor, before he continued. _"But of course. If I told you what the government dubbed me, you'd know everything in a heartbeat, including what I've done and what I plan to do."_

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. Part of him was hoping that this tall, dark, menacing figure was just a regular thief here to break into his house late in the night while his sister was away at the movies. Then he could just let the man have what he wanted, call Casey over when he was gone and have the agent kick his sorry—

When the man reached behind his back and produced a pair of plastic hand-cuffs, the kind Chuck knew you couldn't remove without a sharp blade and a steady hand, he knew that this wasn't just some ordinary thief. The man wasn't in any hurry, and he was well aware of Chuck's latest (most annoying) secret. This was the real deal.

"_Tell me, aren't you the least bit curious as to what it is I want?" _The man asked quietly. His voice was dark and steady, knowledgeable and calm…Chuck was really starting to hate him. _"Is there nothing that teases your imagination at the moment?"_

"N-not really." Chuck squeaked, clearing his throat immediately after he spoke. Now was not the time to let the man know how afraid he was.

His captor chuckled. _"It's only fair that I'm honest with you. At least you'd be able to trust me after a while…"_

Chuck didn't need to be told to know he was being taken. And learning that the man was planning on seeing him for a _'while'_ meant that this spy/agent/whatever wasn't just some crony working for some wacked-out overlord. He was too collective to be a goon.

"_It's a wonder no one ever tried this before—or at least tried and was __**successful**__… I came for you, Chuck."_ The man clarified impassively. _"And I plan on showing you all that you can be."_

He should scream. Yeah—he should just _scream_, or shout, or yell, or holler—anything to get _anyone's _attention, because right now he couldn't understand what the hell the man was talking about. Not only that, but Chuck was pretty sure he was already all that he 'could be'.

The man noticed Chuck's slight step back and the heaving in his chest as he took in air. _"Don't."_ He said, somehow not sounding half as worried (or as angry) as Chuck thought he would be. _"Even if I shot you in the foot, no one would come. You're friends are comatose, and I don't expect them to find you missing until the morning."_

"They're alive?" Chuck blurted out before he could stop himself. Most of the time, everyone wanted to _kill_ Casey and Sarah.

"_For now, in any case."_ He remarked. The man wasn't missing a beat. _"That all depends on your level of cooperation_._"_

Chuck never knew there was an actual 'level' of cooperation. In his experience, someone could take you along quietly or drag you away kicking and screaming into the night, neither of which looked all that appealing to him at the moment. He really didn't want to go anywhere.

"Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind…?"

"_I doubt it."_ His captor replied honestly, and with one hand holding the gun steadily, he handed him the cuffs. _"Clip them on one wrist. I'll fix the other…"_

And to think, tonight he could've joined Ellie and Captain Awesome at the movies.

Chuck took the cuffs hesitantly, rolling up the sleeve of his sweater to clasp it around his wrist. Pulling the long plastic tab through the loop, he winced as it bit into his skin. Perhaps he pulled it a little too tight.

The man, stepping forward to be nearly eyelevel to Chuck (_'nearly'_ in the sense that he was the slightest bit taller than Chuck, another surprising and disappointing feature of his kidnapper), grabbed Chuck's other hand and held his wrists closer together. The mouth of the gun was pressed gently inside his side, a direct indication that the stranger would be more than willing to do Chuck a bit of bodily harm should he try anything stupid. Fiddling with the other end of the plastic cuffs, his captor fastened them around Chuck's other wrist successfully and tugged on them to test their tightness. Satisfied, he averted his eyes to Chuck's face.

"_Comfy?"_

"A bit tight." He replied quietly. "But why are my hands in front of me? Aren't you afraid I'm going to try something?"

"_No."_

And before he could ask yet another dumb question (or point out another flaw in his captor's method) the butt-end of the gun connected with the side of his head and the last thing he saw before he collided with the floor was a glimmery cloud of multi-coloured stars and the faint, misty outline of his enemy's boots…

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. This was, more or less, just the introduction.


	2. Chapter 2: Collateral

Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

A/N: Wow, thanks for the supportive reviews you guys. I usually don't try to guilt people into leaving me feedback, so let it be known that your input is greatly appreciated. Honestly, seeing that my story was the fifth one posted in the category, I really didn't expect anyone to find it right away. Again, thank you.

I just have two notes before I continue the story. First of all—_yes_, Grey's name was meant to be spelled with an 'e'. It's one of those things that shouldn't be there, but it is…and it drives you nuts. My second note it this—**fanlimit** hit the nail on the head when she called this story a "dark" Chuck. My plan is to keep Chuck 'In Character', but I really wanted to see how he would act in a dire situation in which he was powerless and without aid. It would be nice to see him evolve a bit, but don't be alarmed! I'm not going to make him fearless all of a sudden, or a cold-hearted killer, because it's Chucks sweet nature that makes him perfect. _Chuck will always be Chuck_.

DISCLAIMER: (forgot to put this in last time). I don't it...any of it.

CHAPTER TWO: Collateral

As strange as it may seem, the first thing that came to mind once Chuck woke from his hazy, half-conscious state, was the fact that Dorthy in the Wizard of Oz sang about a rainbow long before she was transported to the multi-coloured dimension of Munchkins. He had no doubt that _she_ could see in colour at the beginning of the show, but it always struck him as odd that the one place she longed for throughout the entire movie was a bland, colourless world in which monkeys couldn't fly and a scarecrow really couldn't have a brain. But after last night, his entire thinking-process had changed. Oh, what he wouldn't do right now for a black and white rainbow…

The lack of motion made him wonder how long he had really been asleep. In the movie-universe, the kidnap-_ee_ usually woke up in the trunk of a car, bouncing around as the driver hit yet another speed-bump, or somewhere in a closet whilst one of the goons was tying him up. He didn't expect to find himself lying flat on his back in the middle of a double bed. His hands were still tied by the irremovable (and painful) plastic cuffs, but the rest of his body remained free of confines.

Opening his eyes had been a mistake. The curtains were closed, but the small beam of mid-day light that peeked through illuminated him to a whole new world of pain. In short, his brain felt as though someone had thrown an axe at it, the blade still lodged somewhere in the side of his temple…the same side in which the guy hit him with his gun. For a moment he hoped that he wasn't really kidnapped, just waking up from a very long hangover, still somewhat under the hallucinogenic influence of alcohol, and that sooner or later Sarah or Casey or Ellie would come barging through the door to remind him of what an idiot he was.

Actually, the thought of beer made him feel more nauseous (if that was even possible). The last thing he wanted was a hangover on top of one mean migraine.

The other thing Chuck noticed besides his comfy recline and the throbbing pain in his head was the lack of privacy in the room. Though he had to squint through the dim light to see him, Chuck could make out a familiar tall, dark, menacing figure leaning against the doorframe. Much to Chuck's disappointment, _Grey_ was still masked and wore the same dark spy-suit he wore last night.

"I'd ask for Tylenol…" Chuck murmured groggily, fighting back the pain and incoherency in his brain. 2 + 2 was still 4, right? "…but then you probably wouldn't give me any."

Grey remained quiet, but he uncrossed his arms and reached onto the shelf by the door. Up until then, Chuck hadn't noticed the small bottle of pills sitting there.

"_I'm going to warn you now…"_ The man grabbed the bottle and tossed it onto the bed beside Chuck. With his hands tied in front of him and his fingers free, Chuck was able to roll over, grab it and pop the cap._"Take any more than two and I'll pump them out of your stomach myself."_

Alarmed by the man's near-psychic prediction, Chuck wonder what else the man could come up with.

The over-dose plan was (in all honesty) _Morgan_'s idea. Once upon a time, when Morgan was as drunk as the day is long, he hypothesized all the ways he would escape a half-crazed stalker that wanted to keep him alive in their basement. Morgan said he would overdose with pills, and that way the guy/girl would panic and call the paramedics just to keep their god-like figure alive. Sure, they might flee the scene, but then Morgan would escape right?

Yeah…_right_…First of all, whoever heard of a "_half_-crazed" stalker, and secondly, who in their right mind would let Morgan anywhere near a bottle of pills long enough to overdose

Chuck wasn't so sure about the 'escape' portion of the plan, but in his currently incoherent state of madness he had a brief lapse of contemplation and came up with a bright idea of his own: Grey wants Intersect – Intersect was inside his head; ergo: Chuck dies – Intersect dies. Again, it wasn't his most _brilliant _idea, but the thought had come and gone in a flash similar to the ones he suffered when he saw something related to the Intersect. Besides, if he died, what was there to stop Grey from going back to Ellie to extract his revenge? If he was able to knockout Casey and Sarah, then he sure as hell could do it again.

Deciding that his best plan of action for the moment was to play along quietly, Chuck shook out only two pills and visibly popped the cap back on. Leaving it by his side, Chuck tossed the pills in his mouth and swallowed them whole. He wasn't too keen on finding out how exactly the man would extract the pills from his stomach. It would probably be a most unpleasant experience.

Moving into a move comfortable position, Chuck swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He paused before trying to stand but thought better of it when his head starting spinning.

When the man didn't say anything, Chuck, unnerved by the eerie silent (let alone the man's very presence), mustered the courage to ask another question. "What did you do to them?"

"_Who?"_

"…Just think about it for a moment."

Grey chuckled. _"The Agents are safe. I went after the girl first—slipped into her house and dropped a pill in her water filter. Major Casey was a little less fortunate though. We fought, but in the end it was chloroform that took him down."_ Then he added as an afterthought. _"…I expect they should both be wide awake by now…"_

"…Why…?"

"_Hm?"_

Chuck swallowed. "Why didn't you…_ya know_…um…"

"_**Kill**__ them?"_ Grey laughed a little harder this time; heartily, not cruelly. _"Lord, kid—you can't even say the __**word**__. You are naïve."_

"No." He responded quietly, sounding defensive. "I just didn't want to give you any ideas, being the villain and all…"

"_They are alive for two reasons, and two reasons alone. So please listen carefully…"_ The man began. _"First of all, the government decides the level of delicacy it must use when dealing with aggressive actions against both the public and itself based on a few simple factors: the agents—if any—that were involved in the crime, the civilians and technology exploited, the method of crime and the level of damage._

"_Miss Walker and Major Casey are both agents from different branches of the government and you are both the civilian and technology exploited. The smaller crimes I committed were those such as 'breaking and entering' and 'battery and assault', but the only thing the government is going to care about at this very moment is your unfortunate kidnapping. The level of current damage ranges between minimal to unknown since both agents are alive but you are missing._

"_Now, when the two failed agents report your sudden disappearance, the government will assess my method of operation—I came alone and attacked, but didn't kill, two agents, of whom the woman I took out first, and then proceeded to the Bartowski household where I intercepted and kidnapped you. I left evidence of a struggle, all of which they will conclude as a slack job of a low-level kidnapper working under the command of a much more __**influential**__ man. Because this is not my regular MO, and because I am currently supposed to be__**dead**__, it will take a while for the government to link the crime to me."_

"But you didn't even give me a chance to struggle." Chuck corrected. "Maybe Casey, but not me."

"_It's not difficult to stage a fight, Chuck."_ Grey clarified. _"But that leads me to my second point—as I said before, this operation wasn't carried out under my regular MO. There are no casualties, and my team stayed behind…"_

Chuck shook his head slowly. "Sarah knows this—Casey knows this—I'm completely_lost_ when it comes to criminal affairs and spy-work. You're going to have to continue filling in the blanks for me."

"_It's the headache, I'm sure." _Grey laughed. _"But that's fine with me—so long as you're willing to learn, you and I will get along quite well. Now…as I was saying before, despite my usual method of operation, I left your friends alive. I can be __**quite**__ merciful, Chuck, but that's only as long as you cooperate with me. Do we have an understanding?"_

"You want me to_cooperate_?" He asked incredulously, both afraid and utterly outraged at the same time. "I know I'm not the bravest guy on the block and I sure as hell can't amount up to someone from the CIA or FBI when it comes to torture, but I know what's in my head and I know that if you don't kill me first, Sarah will be more than happy to finish the job. I can't tell you anything about Intersect."

"_You don't have to tell me a thing about Intersect."_ Grey continued in a voice that was abnormally calm and quiet. Menace and delight was laced in that voice. _"In fact, I'm here to teach you how to put all that information to good use for yourself. In the end, I won't have to ask. You'll remember something valuable from Intersect and you'll do what I want you to do with that information…"_

Chuck was almost too frightened to speak, but he frowned a little and tried to remain level-headed. "…What do you mean?"

"_What do I mean?..."_

As the man trailed off, a horrible, ear-wrenching noise came from downstairs. Heart racing, Chuck stared past the man down the short hallway toward the stairs, absolutely petrified when the man merely glanced over his shoulder and then back at him. Chuck had his eyes glued on the hallway, mind working overtime as he tried to think of a plan.

It's not every day you hear a little girl scream bloody-murder.

"_Tell me, Chuck…exactly how merciful did I say I could be…?"_

"…'Quite'." He breathed, barely registering the question. His brain was beginning to numb again.

The little girl screamed again before crying out for her mommy, and a loud bang resounded from the first floor as something wooden collided with the floor. There were sounds of a scuffle, someone small trying to run on linoleum as someone heavier dashed after her before she screamed again.

Grey's voice remained calm and quiet. _"…Are you going to cooperate, Chuck?"_

Was that really a fair question?

"…Yes."

…Sorry, Sarah.

A/N: Yes, another short one. It's late, and I'm tired—sorry!

Don't worry about the little girl. As I said before, Chuck is the one whose supposed to take on the heat. The little girl is really just collateral…at the moment anyway. I can't tell you everything. Mwah ha ha ha ha!


	3. Chapter 3: Alice in Wonderland

Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

Wow, there was a very depressing episode of Chuck last Monday. I always knew Casey had orders to kill Chuck, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon in the series. Then again…Chuck did _'accidentally'_ blow up his car…but still…

On a side note, **I suck at romance and will not even attempt to write it**, although I can see the iffy-ness between Chuck and Sarah in the show and that may linger above Sarah, at least, in the story. I'm **not** going to turn this into a sappy romance. Sorry.

Thanks again for the feedback you guys. I hope you still enjoy it

DISCLAIMER: I possess no ownership whatsoever. If I did, I wouldn't be a poor student. Hah!

CHAPTER THREE: Alice in Wonderland

Sarah had made her fair share of mistakes in life, but nothing, so far, had made her feel as miserable as she did now. Chuck was gone, and it was all because they screwed up.

Waking up had been a rollercoaster ride, complete with nausea and a pounding headache, but rushing over to Chuck's house to find him missing somehow made her pseudo-hangover seem like a relaxing day on the beach. Finding Casey half awake did nothing to lift her spirits, and as soon as the debriefing with headquarters was over…well…needless to say, everyone had recognized the fact that they screwed up.

They screwed up bigtime.

Ellie had freaked when she came home around 1am to find the house in a state of disarray. When she discovered Chuck was missing, her level of hysteria flew through the roof. Having called the police, naturally, the NSA sent a few of their members dressed as cops to process the scene. So far the mess was hopeless. It appeared as though a man-made, mini tornado swooped in and out the front door, tearing apart nick-knacks and small furniture before whipping back outside, leaving the walls and ceiling intact. There were no shoe (or finger-) prints, no traces of blood and, unfortunately, no torn clothing to identify who was there at the time of attack and if, hopefully, Chuck was still in a stable condition.

"You look miserable."

Sarah flinched internally. While Ellie was down at the police station for questioning, Sarah decided to scan the crime scene in case she recognized something. "Thank you, Casey. I wouldn't have noticed otherwise…"

"No valuables were taken; just the kid." Casey continued, pretending in his nonchalant fashion that he wasn't acquainted with the victim and could really care less if they found his body in a ditch a few days later. "No prints…no clues…I don't even think the kid put up a fight."

"Don't you think you're being a little—"

"Harsh? No." Casey picked up a shattered photograph, pieces of glass slipping from the frame. "Honestly, I think this guy is screwing with us…wasting our time. But because he messed the place up, it's going to take us longer to process it all, and there's no way _now_ we can tell the kid's sister he just slipped off last night for a little alone time with his fake girlfriend."

Even so, they didn't know if the individual who took Chuck was working for himself or someone else, of if he _was_, in fact, "alone".

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Sarah replied coldly. "I don't see you high-tailing out of here to apprehend the criminal."

"I'm just laying out the facts."

"Why?"

"Because…" Casey handed the broken frame to one of the crime scene investigators before returning his attention to the conversation. "If you can't handle this, Walker, maybe you should sit this one out."

Stunned, momentarily, by the sheer audacity of his suggestion, Walker opened her mouth to give him an earful but was rudely interrupted when he finished his argument—

"That's an order."

Casey wasn't above and beyond Sarah. At most, he was perhaps her equal and had no ground to kick her off the case. However, Casey knew something she didn't and if _they_—the self-righteous bastards in charge—were keeping him on the case instead of her, she knew something was amiss. There was more to Casey's assignment than just the protection of the 'Intersect'.

But Sarah was smart. Sarah was suave.

"Alright."

Casey stood there momentarily, eyeing her warily. He undoubtedly suspected something but nodded anyway. "…Enjoy your afternoon, Walker."

Sarah nodded in turn and headed for the door, a plan hatching in the back of her head. If anyone could find Chuck, it was her—

And if anyone could save Chuck, it was also her.

-Chuck-

You know that one spot everyone hates? The one that's somewhere between a rock and a hard place? Yeah—that's the one…Well, just to let you know, Chuck absolutely hated it. On a more ameliorable day, Chuck could take lemons and turn them into lemonade, but when he was trapped with a tough decision that had nothing to do with computers (or anything electronic for that matter), Chuck just wanted to take that proverbial lemon and cram it down someone's throat. Come on—who of you can say you've been in a hostage situation that dealt with a four-year-old girl scared half to death after some psychotic mercenary broke into her house and locked her mother in the basement…That's quite the mouthful, but he doubted anyone could raise their hand and say, 'Yep, that happened to me last Friday.'

This was a unique situation…and Chuck had absolutely no idea what he was going to do about it.

The four-year-old girl in question was Alice, and Alice had only recently stopped crying after being locked upstairs in the master bedroom with Chuck for an hour. She sobbed for most of the time (nothing Chuck said could stop the tears) until she became a bit drowsy. Then she climbed up off the floor in her parents' room and plopped down next to Chuck on the bed. Head still throbbing, neck feeling quite soar, Chuck winced as she bounced on the soft comforter before lying down next to him.

"…Aren't you scared of me?"

Alice, all blond hair and blue eyes, studied him closely for a moment before she shook her head, pigtails bouncing with her. Alice's nose was a bit red, her eyes still damp, but Chuck could tell she was exhausted from crying for so long. "…I can see your face." She sniffled quietly, her consonants sounding a bit round—but hey, she was four.

It clicked in Chuck's brain that, seeing as Grey wouldn't show him his face, no one else would either. After all, with one glance Chuck could know everything about them…at least, everything the _government_ knew about them. There were limits to the Intersect's apparent wealth of knowledge.

Wracking his brain for some clue as to what it was exactly Grey planned on doing with him, Chuck considered himself lucky that the last thing Grey did before locking them in the room together was order one of his men to toss 'Alice' in with him and stand guard outside. So long as no one was watching them on the inside, Chuck could plot away…to the best of his ability.

Five minutes after Grey left them; Chuck walked over to the only window, Alice wailing in the background, and took a good hard look at their surroundings. Much to his disappointment, Alice lived on an acre out in the middle of nowhere and the only way to get down from the window was a vine ladder…which Grey had viciously torn off the side of the house. Since Chuck knew his climbing capabilities sucked (not to mention his head was in no shape to deal with vertigo at the moment), he wasn't even going to attempt climbing out the window with a child clinging to his back. So, he sat down in front of Alice for a while and tried to calm her down, dodging small kicks and listening to the girl wail a muffled narrative of her capture (including the part where her mother was dragged down into the basement), before giving up entirely and opting to lie on the bed and wait. He knew she would exhaust herself sooner or later.

"…That's right." Chuck replied softly, trying hard not to rile her again. "I don't have to hide my face. I'm one of the good guys."

Alice nodded, seeming to like the idea very much. Resting her head on the pillow next to him she reached for a lock of his hair and tugged a bit to test the elasticity of the swmi-curl. Smiling, she asked. "…Wa's your name?"

"Charles…but you can call me Chuck."

"I can? Why?"

"Because you're special."

Alice beamed at the idea. Chuck wasn't exactly an expert with kids, but he knew what they wanted to hear. As a babysitter, he would probably fail—but as a cool older brother that played dart tag in a library and ate ice cream for breakfast, he could probably earn himself a ranking of five stars.

She released his hair. "I'm Alice."

"That's a pretty name." He grinned. "So, what's your favorite colour?"

"Yellow."

"Yellow?"

"Yeah."

"Why yellow?"

Alice paused, remembering something delightful but realizing almost immediately that it wasn't real anymore. "…'cause it made me happy…"

"Hey, kiddo. Don't worry…we'll get out of this okay."

"And mommy too?" She whimpered.

"Yeah. Your mom—"

The knob twisted suddenly and the door was thrown open. Startled by the intrusion, Chuck sat up quickly and found his head swimming in a sea of pain. His neck, too, was still a little worse for wear and stars blinded his vision as he tried to register what was happening. Alice screamed.

As his vision returned, Chuck noticed the other masked goon, possessing the form of a football player and decked entirely in black, leaning over the bed to stop Alice from shouting. Before he could grab her, however, Chuck snatched Alice around the waist and pulled her onto his lap.

"Hey, it's okay, Alice." He tried to convince her. "They're not going to touch you."

Alice shut her mouth immediately and the goon, grateful for the silence, leaned back… _"Come on, Bartowski…Grey wants to talk to you."_

Alice opened her mouth to disagree but Chuck covered it with his hand. "I'll be right back, Alice—I promise…"

The little girl whimpered but remained quiet as he removed his hand. She clinged to his shirt a bit as he lifted her off his lap and placed her near the head of the bed, but released him as soon as the masked man moved to grab Chuck's arm. Chuck got off the bed slowly, giving his head time to adjust to the motion before allowing himself to be lead out of the room. He glanced back briefly at Alice as the door closed behind him, the goon using his free hand to click the knob-lock on the door once again. **(1)**

"_You know the rules—no funny business."_

"I never really was all that funny, so don't sweat it."

The man chuckled before giving him a shove in the right direction. Chuck walked ahead of him toward the stairs. He debated whether he should remain silent or not, but decided that he had the liberty to talk unless someone told him otherwise.

"Just out of curiosity…how's the woman in the basement?"

"_Fine. And that's all you need to know."_

"Fine…as in alive? In one piece?"

"_Yeah—now move. The world will keep on turning so long as you comply."_

Chuck's mind flew to the whole Star Trek idea where _'resistance is futile'_ and realized that, seeing as a whole database could be literally _downloaded_ into his brain via e-mail, his captors could be capable of any form of torture, brain washing or whatever that was similar to that process. What was stopping them from picking his brain apart piece by piece to collect the information they wanted? Then again…there was that thing Grey said earlier…

…"_You don't have to tell me a thing about Intersect…In fact, I'm here to teach you how to put all that information to good use for yourself. In the end, I won't have to ask. You'll remember something valuable from the Intersect and you'll do what I want you to do with that information…"_

Chuck had no idea how Grey planned to achieve such a feat, but he really didn't want to find out. Starting down the stairs toward the main floor, Chuck tried to banish the idea that he had no choice in the matter whatsoever…Wasn't every man supposed to be the master of his own destiny?

…Apparently not.

A/N: **(1)** A 'knob lock' is really a _pick_ you can insert in the side of a knob to stop it from turning. It's hard to describe, but it can be used on either side of the door (so long as it possesses one of those round knobs) and makes for a great make-shift lock.

As for the chapter title…yeah, I actually got dared to name it that by one of my sister's. The girl's name was Alice and, since she's trapped in a bizarre situation, it kind of fit…


	4. Chapter 4: The Stroop Effect

Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

FREEDOM! Freedom at long last! I completed all my finals, and now I have a twenty-four day long Christmas break before the next semester begins. But 'Ugh'…I've got such a migraine…Sitting hunch over a desk for three hours straight does a number on one's neck, so please—practice proper posture (ha, alliteration…I know. I'm weird…). More importantly, have fun!

By the way, thank you for all the cheerful reviews and comments/concerns. I try to keep all of your advice in mind. In saying that, don't worry about having to review. My home-made cookies feed my ego well enough :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Chuck or anything affiliated to it. I'm just here to write fanfiction. On a side note, the "**Stroop Effect**" is an actual phenomenon discovered by **J. Ridley Stroop**—not just something I invented on a whim. I think it helps to explain Chuck's "flashes".

CHAPTER FOUR: The Stroop Effect

"_Do you know what the Stroop Effect is?"_

Usually he expected a warm 'hello', or maybe a 'hey, Chuck'—_or_, in Casey's case, a mere grunt to acknowledge that he was indeed being perceived as another living, breathing creature on God's green earth. Lately he'd gotten used to being asked curious questions about the things he saw when the Intersect was activated, but normally there was a bit of regular 'I've noticed you, Chuck' conversation leading up to that. And seeing as he'd just (barely) come to terms with what was happening to him, Chuck couldn't understand how the man expected him to answer that question on-the-spot.

"…I vaguely remember something about words and colours." He replied from where he sat at the kitchen table. It was odd being in a house—a _regular_ house with paintings on the wall, a clean counter and the sun shining in from the windows—one which had recently been commandeered by Mr. _Grey_. His mind wandered to the woman supposedly locked up in the basement before he glanced at the two men sitting in the living room, both wearing black ski masks and dark, long-sleeved shirts. Grey was careful in making sure Chuck wouldn't noticed anything that would give him a bit of information the Intersect would recognize.

"_Yes."_ The man answered in a somewhat surprised voice. No…it wasn't 'surprised' so much as it was 'pleased'. The man was just _pleased_ they were starting off the day on the same page. _"Do you remember anything else besides that?"_

Chuck had Morgan to thank for whatever pieces of information he remembered about the Stroop Effect. Two weeks ago Morgan came into work with a sheet of paper with a bunch of coloured words written on them, betting anyone twenty bucks they couldn't say the colour of each of the fifty words properly in less than thirty seconds. Needless to say, Morgan won a lot of money that day.

Chuck, feeling very much like a grade-five student being grilled by his teacher, decided to appease Grey for the moment. No need for pain just yet, right? "…You have to say the colour of the ink the word is written in and not the word itself, like 'green' printed in blue ink…you're supposed to say 'blue'. At least, that's how I think it goes…"

"_Wonderful. As much as I enjoy educating a person, it's always a pleasure to see they have some background on the information I'll be teaching them."_

So long as the _'educating'_ was purely mental—in a _non-physical_ manner—Chuck was okay with that too.

"_Do you know anything else about the Stroop Effect or what it means?"_

"Not really."

Grey chuckled. "_The Stroop Effect was discovered by J. Ridley Stroop and it has everything to do with memories. You see, the brain is loaded with information that is stored there either implicitly or explicitly, episodically or semantically, and through maintenance rehearsal or elaborative rehearsal. Retrieving this information is another matter altogether. Some of that information remains in a solid state or fades away over time."_

Grey, who had been standing up until then, pulled out the seat adjacent to Chuck at the table and sat down. He reached into his pocket and with pulled out an object concealed carefully by one of his gloved hands. He held out his fist to tempt Chuck, but continued talking before revealing his trick. _"I want you to look at what is in my hand without think about __what it is__. Try to keep yourself from identifying it."_

Staring at the fist just to humor the man, Chuck watched as he unfolded his fingers and revealed a quarter.

'A quarter'…_Damn_….

"_Hard, isn't it?" _ Grey mused pleasantly. _"It's the same with reading. If I wrote down the word __**tree**__ you would have a hard time ignoring what it meant. Just by glancing at it, you would see what the word was and what it was referring to. This is the Stroop Effect—the inability or difficultly of suppressing a well-practiced or meaningful memory. So long as there is a stimuli—which could be as simple as the mere sight or sound of something—the information pertaining to that stimuli would be automatically retrieved. Think about it. You don't have to think hard about every word you see or hear—you perceive it and then you respond. Life would be quite tedious, otherwise."_

Chuck could understand what he was saying well enough, but didn't have the slightest idea what the Stroop Effect had to do with him.

Somehow, Grey could see that in his eyes. _"Those flashes that you see…the Intersect's information has been engraved in your memory. Whenever your mind is stimulated by something you see or hear there's no stopping its retrieval."_

"But that's a lot of information." Chuck replied, surprised that any of this made sense to him at all. It was shocking news. "I like to gloat when I can, but even I can't say I'm smart enough to remember an entire file in milliseconds."

"_That's because the mind is like an egg."_

"…An egg? You're kidding me…right?"

Grey shook his head. The serious and _pleasant_ demeanor of his captor was really starting to frighten him. _"If I cracked an egg open and fried it, there's no way in hell I would be able to 'un-fry' the egg and put it back in the shell."_

"…I'm still lost. So, if you crack my head open and fry my brains, I'm basically _dead_—that's what I've come to understand."

He laughed. _"That's an amusing thought, but that's not what I'm getting to. No. Similar to a denatured egg, once the mind is stretched to receive new information or reach a new level of understanding, there's no undoing what's been done. Even people suffering from amnesia are able to remember all that they've forgotten. Likewise, now that your brain has been changed to a state in which it can receive a vast amount of information and remember every single detail without rehearsal—very much like someone with a photographic memory—there's no way to change it back."_

"But I _don't_ have a photographic memory. I think I would've noticed by now, seeing that it's something a person wouldn't normally miss."

"_That's because this new 'state of mind' is selective toward the information it originally learned. Once I push it past that barrier, your memory will no longer have a bias toward the information you've stored from the Intersect."_

It was then Chuck realized his hands were sweaty, fingers digging into his kneecaps as he tried to keep a level head. He was in more of a 'state of shock' than a new 'state of mind'. The only thing that had been keeping him going up until now, since the day Bryce first sent him that e-mail, was the fact that he would someday be able to cope with all the information of the Intersect stored in his mind. If he saw something that triggered the information—fine, whatever, he'd deal with it then. But having to remember everything all the time wasn't his idea of fun. If he started remembering _everything_ he might draw more attention to himself that he ever really wanted…

"I don't know how to intend to accomplish that." Chuck gulped. "And I really don't care to find out. Can I get rain check on this little experiment of yours?"

"_No. We'll do a little test, and if you fail then I'll set you free—along with the little girl."_

Chuck froze. "…I know I'm not the smartest guy on the block, but please don't mock me. Casey does that well enough already."

"_Quite the contrary—you __are__ the 'smartest guy on the block', so to speak, and no, I'm not mocking you. I'll have no use for either of you if you fail."_

"In that case, I'm pretty sure the difficulty of this test will be beyond anything I'm capable of."

Grey shrugged. He looked over at one of the men sitting in the living room with his piercing gray eyes and waited until the lackey tossed him a sealed file. _"This contains two pages."_ Grey explained. _"I'm going to show you both. Then I will ask you a question."_

After a moment of hesitation…Chuck nodded.

Tearing open the side of the file, Grey pulled out the first page with its back turned to Chuck…then laid it down before him. On it was the symbol of an upside-down A.

_Montago—1987, January 15—classified—bombing—3:00am—13 casulaties—Skylar Vix—_

Before he had a chance to process all the information, there was a stabbing sensation in the side of his neck. The download paused briefly before completing its faster-than-lightning flash-show and leaving Chuck in a numb, half-way state between consciousness and…well…_unconsciousness_. His head felt as though it was floating in a jar of jelly before Grey sat back down again (when had he been standing?), placed the needle back on the table (where had the needle come from?) and pulled out the second sheet. Before Chuck could ask what he did to him (or run away, for that matter), Grey flipped over the second piece of paper and every word on the page suddenly burned an image on the back of his eyes. He blinked, and then it was over.

"W-what just happened?" Chuck asked, voice quivering as though he had just run a mile. His heart was racing and he felt as though too much adrenaline was pumping through his veins—not to mention his head felt as though he was floating weightlessly in space.

"_Answer incorrectly and I'll set both you and the girl free, but…" _Grey paused, leaning forward as he lowered his voice. _"…if you __**don't**__ answer correctly, I'll also kill the mother."_

"But—"

"_I never specified what would happen to the woman." _Grey continued, not giving Chuck a moment to speak (or think). _"Now, from the page I photocopied from a dictionary, what was the twelfth word in bold print from the bottom of the sheet, and what was its definition?"_

He wanted to stop the man and ask his fair share of questions. Another part of him wanted to do something Casey or Sarah would do…like spit at him or refuse to say a word, but Chuck was weak. He was weak in heart and he hated to think what would happen to the woman in the basement if he decided to act a little cheeky toward his captor. Casey could shoot people and Sarah could kick the hell out of them. Chuck? Trapped with this psychotic man, what could he do?

In comparison to them, the answer would be _'nothing'_.

Staring at the table, swallowing slowly, Chuck repeated what he saw in the afterimage of page. "…The word was 'rathskeller' and it said: 'city-hall basement restaurant'. The second, more specific, definition said: 'a usu. basement tavern or restaurant'…although I don't know how much more _'specific'_ it was in this case. Unless, of course, you're referring to Germany. Then this would make perfect sense because it said in the tab that 'rathskeller' is a German term…Wait, does that work?"

Grey was quiet for a moment, checking over the sheet to double-check Chuck's answer. Mind still fuzzy from whatever the man injected him with, Chuck suddenly felt his fear and nervousness escalate, along with his hatred for himself and the loathing toward his captor. Then, just as suddenly, all his emotions were swept away. He felt…isolated…separate from the world in a near-impassive state. Part of him felt depressed, but the numbing sensation that washed down from the crown of his head to tip of his toes kept him sedate and docile. Chuck felt as though he was operating on automatic at the moment.

"_Congratulations. The woman lives."_

Chuck glanced briefly at the needle. Specks of black were dancing across his vision and he had a pressing question at the back of his mind. Unfortunately for him, he was beginning to fade out of consciousness.

"What…what did you do to me?" He asked. The words came out soft and slow, each one spoken in the same tone as the last.

"_An improvement, I think."_ Grey replied nonchalantly. And before Chuck faded out completely, leaning to one side as he began falling out of the chair, the man added. _"And to think…this is only the beginning…"_

A/N:

I hope I'm not making Chuck seem a little OOC. I wanted him to talk more and he will soon, but I needed to explain the basis of Grey's experiment. I apologize if he's a little off (…or a lot off…I don't know…)

_-Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	5. Chapter 5: The Game's Afoot

Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

(Sigh) Alas…Christmas vacation is over—but I hope you all enjoyed the holidays! It was peculiarly warm this year…

Thanks again for the reviews; they're very much appreciated. As for the science level of this chapter…eh…not so much. I don't plan to write every chapter chalk full of theories and random information. I have to develop the characters anyway…and besides, most of you are back in school—I doubt you want to put more pressure on your brain than what's absolutely necessary at the moment. I'm not even back into the groove of things yet, so, hey, let's take a breather.

DISCLAIMER: I make no claims on anything Chuck-related…unless I really am related to a guy named Chuck. Now _that_ would be interesting…

CHAPTER FIVE: The Game's Afoot

Sarah surrendered her right to a normal life long ago, but not before snatching the long end of the stick. Even before she joined the CIA, Sarah had a knack for getting _what_ she wanted _when_ she wanted it, and when she pledged her life to her fellow country-men she made sure to learn everything the secret-service threw at her. Knowledge, strength and courage—it seemed like a fair trade in exchange for her freedom.

And just because they told her to step down from this particular mission, Sarah wasn't going to give up on finding Chuck. After all, what good was all that 'knowledge, strength and courage' if she couldn't put it to use when she needed it most?

Major John Casey was currently in a meeting with the men at the top of the food chain, collecting what information he could for finding Chuck. Sarah honestly doubted Casey's only job was to search for their current walking/talking Intersect, but that only gave her more incentive to find Chuck first.

"…—anes have left……no—………city…"

She bugged the sole of Casey's left shoe before he woke up that morning. After having called in a favor from a very old, but very talented colleague of hers, Sarah was supplied with a few state-of-the-art gadgets—including a tiny little bug that not even the NSA could detect…at least now, anyway…

Too bad it was only a prototype.

Sarah cursed from where she sat in her car. She had parked a few blocks down from the random building Casey entered that morning, but apparently her old friend had overestimated the range her bug would work at. She couldn't even hear Casey's voice through the speaker. She could only hear—

'_knock knock!'_

Sarah nearly jumped out of her seat when Major John Casey tapped on her window. He snuck up on her…

She was really out of her game today. Somehow, Chuck's disappearance left her frazzled.

Oh well, there was no escaping this…

Sarah rolled down her window and kept her eyes focused on the license plate of the car in front of her as Casey leaned on the side of the car and studied the side of her stoic face. It felt very odd…like he had caught her speeding or something stupid like that.

"Good morning, Agent Walker."

Sarah didn't look at him. "Where are your shoes?"

"I brought a spare set to work today." He replied casually as though it was a regular question. She half expected him to ask for her license. "I've got the other pair under the table in the conference room. I'm sure that's what you wanted, right, Walker?"

Sarah sighed. Trust Casey to change his shoes inconspicuously in the middle of the meeting and leave without anyone batting an eye. "Aren't you going to turn me in now?"

She glanced at him briefly and caught the slightest hint of a smirk before focusing back on the license plate. "No…Although I will have to return to grab my shoes."

Surprised, she finally turned her head and looked him in the eye. "But you—"

"They haven't got a clue what they're doing." He said in a slightly disappointed voice, referring to the higher-ups of their respective organizations. Casey was a man or order, and there was nothing that irked him more chaos amongst the ranks. "They know Chuck is still hasn't left by plane or train, but that's about it. They're too busy arguing to figure anything else out."

"And you're any closer to the truth?"

"I was given a direct order to find Chuck. So long as I find the kid and keep them up-to-date, they don't care what I do or _how_ I plan to do it."

Sarah added quietly. "Or who you do it with?"

Casey gave a strict but oh-so-very Casey-ish smile. "Precisely. So decide, Walker. Are you going to continue to screw up or are you going to get your head together and find Bartowski?"

She gave him a frown but couldn't help but smile internally. Besides, who else would he pick to help him but her? She knew how to handle Chuck and they were both the best in their league. Casey knew that the more manpower he had, the easier his mission would be, and, besides, he probably didn't want to meet Chuck face to face, alone, in the midst of saving him. Chuck would only drive him nuts. "What's the plan?"

"The old archives."

-Chuck-

Waking up wasn't a pleasant matter. It hurt the first time when he was knocked out by a solid punch, but the second time seemed worse. He still felt as though his head was trapped in a jar of jelly, but now someone was rolling that jar down the side of a very steep hill. He felt nauseous.

Maybe it was because Alice was bouncing on the bed next to him. Someone had laid him out nicely on one side, the curtains shut tight to shade the room.

"I saw Mommy!" Alice exclaimed in blissful glee before she landed on his stomach. Chuck fought down the urge to vomit and rolled over onto his side with a groan. "…Are you sick?"

"…_No…_" He moaned, trying to mask the pain in his voice (unsuccessfully). He took a moment to breathe before he continued. "…But I would really like to know how your mommy is."

"Mommy's okay." She said before lying down next to him. "She cried, but she said it was 'cause she was happy to see me. She's in the people-room."

"The people-room?"

"When people come, they sleep in the people-room."

"You mean the guest bedroom?"

Alice beamed. "Uhuh! I had soup with Mommy and she told me a story!"

So…they were feeding the woman and allowing her to visit her daughter, but they weren't allowing her to stay with her child…Why? Was it because they didn't want the woman to escape (she certainly wouldn't want to leave without Alice), or did they think Chuck wouldn't try any plans of his own if he had to watch the girl and keep her safe? It could be either or both. Either way, Chuck wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

That didn't mean he couldn't entertain his brain with escape plans. He and Morgan used to sit around at work on slow days and ask each other 'What if' questions. What if you were abducted by aliens? What if you were locked in the storage closet with a savage wolf? What if you eaten by a whale (Morgan's idea)? Chuck wasn't a special agent with secret ninja training or anything like that, but he was a nerd and he'd played almost every spy-game on the face of the planet.

First of all, there was guest bedroom in the basement—that meant there had to be removable window panes down there in case of a fire. If Chuck knew how to get outside, he could remove the window and get the woman out.

But how would he get out of his own room? Where in the basement was the woman located? How would he get Alice out of the room with him? Where would he go? How would he leave the acre—he wasn't exactly a great runner…

Okay, before he thought of anything else he had to figure out how to get out of the room. He really wished Major Casey was there at the moment—he'd probably scale the wall without a rope and save the poor damsel in the basement without breaking a sweat.

Rope…Well, he didn't have rope but he did have bed-sheets and he didn't need to make a chain long enough to touch the ground. He was tall, and the house was only two stories—if he could make it halfway down without falling, he could just let go and land easily enough. But Alice…

Careful not to move quickly, Chuck stood up and walked over to the window. Pulling the curtain aside cautiously, he winced when the light hit his eyes but squinted so he could see the yard. There were two men standing guard outside, both wearing ski masks and both armed with guns in their holsters. The house was far from the main road and evergreen trees lined the edge of the acre near the highway. No one would see them unless they came snooping onto the property.

…Unless there was a fire.

Chuck thought about it for a moment. Where the hell did he come up with a crazy idea like that? Morgan would probably like the idea…He really didn't want to burn the house down, but if he set fire to something, the smoke would alert someone. This was an acre, but there had to be another house somewhere nearby or a little community where the family could buy their groceries. It was a long shot, but he wasn't a great thinker like his secret agent guardians. Sarah would have taken out the guards already.

"Alice…"

The little girl sat up. "Uhuh?"

"Does your daddy have a shed, you know, where he keeps his tools?"

She nodded, piggy-tails bobbing delightfully. "It's on the other side." She replied, gesturing to his left. Alice probably meant on the side of the house. "By the wood."

"Wood as in 'a forest' or wood as in 'firewood'?"

"For the fire."

Wow…today really was his lucky day.

Then again, since when was he this organized? Was it that weird stuff Grey injected him with? No…that was only some really freaky, memory-enhancing thing…

But he couldn't help feel that Grey was up to something else. After all, he had the Intersect in his possession, why wasn't he torturing Chuck this very moment to tell him something interesting, or inject him with something else that would make him brain go all wonky.

Chuck sighed. He really wasn't cut out for this sort of business.

A/N:

Chuck's coming together. I still want him to be funny, but I'm not so good at funny. Tell me if I'm stretching his character too far.

As for Casey, he's the proud kind of guy, but he does respect people, and if anyone can find Chuck, it's Sarah. I don't know why, but that just seems to be the case. I'll try to make more sense of it in the following chapters.

By the way, I thought it was pretty interesting that most of the Chuck titles start with "Chuck vs…" like the actual TV episodes. I tried to think of what I would name mine, but I couldn't think of anything. I'm sticking with "Special Agent Chuck".

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


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